We Are Very Far from Magic

We are very far from magic here it seems,
in this neighborhood of asphalt drives
and family dogs, of massive cars
and fear of narrow definitions;
it's unlikely that the spells we thought
were all around us formerly survive.

But some magic that we thought was true was not,
the conceit of youth concerned to turn
the world to its advantage,
and other unsuspected holds--so that, for example,
the mother fox can still trot quickstep down
Turner to her den and waiting kits,
or even drop her possums on a handy lawn
and rest, careless of the owner's gaze;
and lawns themselves can bring forth life,
like the rabbits that we found
before the mower had a chance to pass,
trilling loudly in their nest to keep
intact the gentle tremor of their living charm.

And now I hear the wind
and watch the trees shake out their leaves
in sunlit preparation for the storm,
and remember that I may still tonight
see, past the blackness that engulfs
and joins our separate yards,
two shadows dancing,
empowered by a greater love than sickness can subdue,
briefly, past a window.

August 8 2009